


I Feel It Everywhere

by FreshBrains



Series: Summertime Sadness [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, POV Lydia, Pining, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cora left, Lydia cried alone in her bedroom for three days, because sometimes screaming isn’t enough and sometimes banshees aren’t impenetrable warriors with unbreakable hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Feel It Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Runs parallel to [Nothing Scares Me Anymore](http://archiveofourown.org/works/999286), this time from Lydia's side of the story. I meant "Nothing Scares Me Anymore" to be a standalone, but since it is so damn cold here, I really wanted to write a warm summer fic.
> 
> Some minor trigger warnings at the end notes.

During the summer between her sophomore and junior years of high school, Lydia realized that she may in fact be a very, very boring person.

She was good at school—she excelled at it, really. She liked the pressure, the questions, the books, the smell of pencil erasers and chalk; she liked feeling important. At school, it was easy to walk tall and proud and have everyone’s attention, not only because she wore the newest dress styles or had the nicest hair, but because she was brilliant. 

But after the werewolves and Ms. Blake and Stiles’ being on her dick twenty-four-seven about dead bodies, she started to see a definite pattern of reaction. Even when she tried to take charge, tried to change her life, she always ended up on the sidelines letting others do the dirty work. She took pride in certain little things—pushing Scott and Stiles away from the gasoline, trying to find the bodies before they find her. But in the end, it was just Lydia in the corner, screaming until someone showed up.

Cora wasn’t a boring person. She fooled people into thinking she was dull, into thinking she was just Derek’s pouty baby sister. But Lydia knew the real Cora, the funny, intense, philosophical Cora who knew about constellations and Greek mythology, who read mysteries and went hiking and baked amazing banana bread. She spent a lot of time with family friends, different packs, and foster parents before the alpha pack got to her, and there was still softness in her, despite how hard the alphas tried to tear it away. Lydia’s bright hair and flouncy skirts turned heads in the hallway, but Cora’s heat, her blazing intensity, kept those eyes _locked_.

They were good together, and then Cora decided to leave.

“Derek and I…we’re going away for a little bit. For the summer.” Cora could barely look Lydia in the eye when she said it, standing in the cold, air-conditioned foyer of Lydia’s house. She looked like the same old Cora—tattered tank top, denim shorts, scuffed tennis shoes. But she wasn’t packed for a summer trip—Derek’s car was loaded with bags and suitcases, and Cora had a _purse_ with her, which Lydia had never seen before.

Lydia swallowed heavily, back still straight, still ready to hold it together. “And you decided to tell me five minutes before you skipped town?”

Cora nodded, face sallow. “Derek didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. He’s been so freaked out lately, you know…”

“Yeah,” Lydia said sharply. “Yeah, I know a thing or two.” She folded her arms across her chest, cutting herself off from Cora’s small warm body, cutting off the need to hold and hug. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

Cora finally looked Lydia head-on, queen-like, brave with her small, foxlike face and downtrodden eyes. “No. I don’t know if we’ll come back at all.”

Lydia nodded. She felt her lower lip tremble and a shot of fire went through her entire body as she thought of all the times a Hale made her cry, made her walls come crumbling down. “Some summer vacation. Well, wear sunscreen. And don’t swim after dark.” She wanted to close the door in Cora’s face, but Cora’s shoulders sagged and she dropped her purse on the floor, opening her arms just a fraction of an inch. Lydia exhaled and fell into Cora’s embrace, smelling pine and rose on her neck, fingers scrabbling at the back of Cora’s shirt.

“You’re the only reason we didn’t leave right after…after everything,” Cora whispered, barely audible, for Lydia’s ears only. “I wanted to stay for you. But I just can’t.”

“Take me with you,” Lydia said, finally letting the tears out. She didn’t really want to go with her, she still didn’t trust Derek and she couldn’t afford to skip town like that, but the words just bubbled out before she could stop them. 

Cora held on tighter. “One last kiss, before I leave.” She loosened her hold a little.

Lydia pulled away, smiling through her tears. “That is _so_ cheesy. I can’t even believe you.” She held Cora at arms’ length and forgot to be mad. She didn’t want to send Cora away angry like she did with Jackson.

Cora smiled too, and ducked in for a small kiss, damp and chaste, her lips a little chapped. Lydia deepened, wanting it to last her all summer and most of fall. Cora touched Lydia’s neck with gentle fingertips, something she always did when they kissed, and pulled away with a little growl. “You’re trying to make me stay.”

“Of course I am,” Lydia whispered, rubbing Cora’s ankle with her bare foot. “Okay. I'll be okay.”

Cora laughed, wiping her cheeks with her wrist. “Okay. Okay. Be good, alright? Hold down the fort.”

Lydia nodded, and turned away. When she looked back, Cora was gone and Derek’s car wasn’t on the street anymore.

Lydia cried alone in her bedroom for three days, because sometimes screaming isn’t enough and sometimes banshees aren’t impenetrable warriors with unbreakable hearts.

*

Lydia never really did things to please others without having an ulterior motive—she may have sucked for Jackson’s benefit, but they always watched _The Notebook_ , no matter how much cajoling he attempted. She wasn’t born yesterday; she knew how to work people. Lydia Martin always got her way in the end. But with Cora, she found herself doing things just to see Cora smile, see her blush, see her eyes shift with arousal. She went to the mall with Allison and bought red lipstick, towering floral-print platform sandals, denim short-shorts with silver studs that rode up high on her thighs, short swishy skirts and tiny tops that bared the smooth white plans of her tummy. She wanted to wow Cora during the long, hot summer.

She was so attuned to Cora; she knew exactly what to do to get her pulse racing. Girls were different than boys—queer girls were turned on by different things than straight men, and Lydia found that it was often the things straight men found too garish, too out there, too wild. The colors and the non-sexual skin, the boldness of fashion—she wore it for herself, but she always had Cora on her mind. What would’ve scared off a teenage boy only made Cora more attracted to Lydia.

But by the time summer actually came around and Lydia was ready to prance around on the beach and the docks with miles of creamy skin showing through her new outfits, Cora was gone and she had no desire to show _any_ of herself to _anyone_. She had a closet full of new things, untouched and suddenly back to being gaudy and silly.

She couldn’t go anywhere because she had nothing to _wear_.

Allison understood it—she spent the summer before heartbroken over Scott and needed time to heal. She texted Lydia every day, called her once in a while, brought her ice cream and gossip magazines. But she didn’t pry.

Stiles came over one afternoon, sidling alongside the front path like a lost puppy, and Lydia finally let him in without fanfare. She curled up on the couch in her pink and green boxer shorts and Beacon Hills Mathletes hoodie, her hair up in a messy bun, and Stiles stood in the living room with his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels until Lydia finally snapped, “Oh my god, what do you want? Seriously, can’t you see I’m wallowing?”

Stiles stopped rocking, obviously a little taken aback, but quickly got to the point. “We’re worried about you. All of us. This isn’t like you.”

Lydia sat up, face blank with disbelief. “Okay, I can appreciate all that we’ve been through this year, but you don’t know a thing about me. So you can fuck off back to your werewolf buddies and stop pretending to care.” She was still in the mood to hurt, to bruise. It was the only thing that made her feel like she had any semblance of control anymore.

Stiles nodded, considering her words. For all of his eagerness, his need to be loved and liked, he was still a perceptive kid. He’d been the victim of friendly fire before. “Okay, I get it. This isn’t about how I felt about you…or even how I may _still_ feel about you. I’m not trying to _prove_ anything, Lydia. I just…” he scrubbed a hand through his hair, it was getting long. “You’re scaring us. You’ve been through so much shit, you’ve seen more horrible, awful nastiness than any of us, but you always came to school the next day with a blowout and a new dress. It was never like this.”

Lydia flopped back onto the couch. She realized she hadn’t shaved her legs since May or brushed her teeth since Monday. “Peter Hale may have used me for necromancy and Jennifer Blake may have tried to strangle me, but I wasn’t in love with either of them, so it’s a little bit of a game-changer.”

Stiles’ face finally broke, his mouth open a bit in understanding, and he sat down gingerly on the couch, keeping his distance. “I might not know as much about you as I wish I did, but I do know what heartbreak feels like.”

Lydia looked up. “Do you? Really?”

Stiles shrugged. “Sure. Maybe not in the same way as you—I’ve never been in love. _Real_ love. But when my mom died, I think my heart broke for a long time.” It was a quiet confession, so subtle, especially for Stiles.

Lydia curled up in on herself, feeling a fresh onslaught of tears on the horizon. “Cora didn’t die, Stiles. She chose to leave. She chose to leave _me_.” She pouted a little, like a girl who just had a toy taken away. “Why would anyone want to leave me?”

Stiles leaned back on the couch and grabbed one of Lydia’s magazines. “I think,” he said, raising his eyebrows at a One Direction photo spread, “that Cora is heartbroken in a very different way. And I think she left because she knew she couldn’t get better in Beacon Hills.”

Lydia scoffed, but her stomach dropped a little. “And how the hell did you deduce that, Sherlock?”

“Come on, Lydia,” he said, a tinge of his signature snark back in his voice. “If you’re trying to heal, you don’t do it in Beacon Hills, the supernatural cesspool of darkness.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Wow. You’ve almost succeeded in making me feel a tiny bit better.”

Stiles smiled and drummed his hands on his legs cheerfully. “Well then, mission accomplished. While I have you in this optimistic state, I’m going to invite you to go get lunch with me. Half an hour, nowhere too busy.”

Lydia considered for a second, refraining from instantly refusing, which she wanted to do. “Make it dinner. I need at least three hours to look presentable.”

Stiles got comfy on the couch. As Lydia disappeared into her bedroom, he asked, “Do you have any more of these magazines?”

*

Lydia felt like she might be able to make it through the summer once she actually got out in the sunshine—it felt good after being cooped up inside for too long. It felt good to have real air in her lungs rather than icy-cool air conditioning. 

“You look nice,” Stiles said cautiously, nodding towards Lydia’s outfit. She wore one of her new ensembles—a pale blue sleeveless blouse, white linen shorts, leather sandals, and a yellow headband in her freshly-washed hair—and she knew she looked good, but it still made her sick to her stomach when she thought of the hungry look Cora would’ve given her before pushing her off the dock into the cool, green lake for underwater kisses.

“Thanks,” Lydia finally said, deciding to cut her losses. “So what have you been doing for the first few weeks of summer?”

Stiles proceeded to fill her in, but there wasn’t much to tell. There was an appalling lack of excitement in Beacon Hills that summer, which was good in many ways and depressing in others.

It was good that Scott and Isaac got to work outside, their boyish arms and legs tan in the sun as they painted houses around town and spent days at the lake. They got to act like teenage boys for the first time since they were bitten, and everyone felt like they could exhale for a second. Stiles hung out with them sometimes, tagged along with the twins and Danny, hiked with Allison a few times—he seemed a little lost, but not bereft. He just sort of floated. 

Lydia took a drink of her soda and leaned against the brick wall of the diner, letting the sunlight warm her hair. “So have you heard from them?”

Stiles sighed and shook his head. “Derek and I aren’t exactly BFFs.”

Lydia closed her eyes and pretended she was on a Malibu beach with Cora in a lounge chair next to her. “But you were friends with _Cora_.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment before he finally said, “No, sorry, Lydia. I haven’t heard from either of them. I promise I’ll tell you if I do.”

Lydia shrugged and stole one of Stiles’ fries. “Whatever.” She took off her sunglasses and turned to face Stiles, blinking from the bright sun. “Hey, take a picture of me with my phone, okay?”

He took her cell and she posed, sipping from her soda bottle, making her eyes wide and cheerful. Stiles smiled as he snapped the picture. “There you go. That’s a nice Lydia smile.”

Once he gave her phone back, Lydia opened up a picture message and typed in Cora’s number. She wanted Cora to see her outside, see her in the sun, beautiful and bursting with happiness. 

But instead, she saved it as a draft and tucked her phone in her purse.

*

For the next couple days, Lydia reconnected with Beacon Hills. She and Allison went shopping, saw the newest chick flicks, got their nails done and spent lazy hours at the beach. Stiles came by just to visit and he got her to go with him to Deaton’s a few times for research, which actually pulled her out of her funk a little. It felt like school—comfortable and useful. Scott and Isaac invited her to the community pool, where the goofed off and pushed each other around, which sometimes felt like babysitting but Lydia didn’t mind too much.

Right at dusk one night, as Lydia sat on her neighbor’s lakeside dock and dipped her bare toes in the water as the sun set pink and purple, her phone chirped from inside her pocket. She knew, she just knew it was Cora, the time felt right and the sky was perfect and the moon was already gleaming like a white tooth against the clouds, and Lydia’s fingers shook as she looked at the screen.

_Wish you were here._

_So do I,_ Lydia thought, before anger sizzled through her chest. She’d never pined once in her life, and all of a sudden she was ready to set off to wherever the hell Cora was and never let her go. Instead, she exhaled deeply and texted back, _If I knew where you were, I’d wish I was there._ It wasn’t the best cover, but she just wanted some closure, some comfort in knowing Cora was safe.

_What if I was somewhere awful?_

Lydia couldn’t think of a more awful place than being in Beacon Hills with a broken heart. There was nothing good about her hometown anymore; she hated all of it, every inch of the evil earth, but she couldn’t bring herself to be truly mad at Cora.

She texted her a last message and set her phone on the dock. She stared at the sunset until the sky was pitch black and the moon blared white in the velvet.

*

_I wish I could knot you, you have no idea._

It was that text, that heavy-breathing horny teenage girl text that sent Lydia’s mind free-falling, sent her body into cold shakes, ripped her heart into so many shreds she thought she’d actually bleed out in her pink little-girl bed.

Scott and Stiles talked about the knot, mostly as a joke, but it was actually a pretty serious thing—only male alpha werewolves had one, and it wasn’t so much a sexual thing as a power thing, a rite of passage, the equivalent of a female mating bite. Stiles insisted Derek had one but none of them could vouch, and they were all pretty sure Derek never had a mate. Scott said he was starting to get one, but it freaked him out so much he ignored it.

Cora talked about it sometimes. It wasn’t weird or perverse to her, it was a part of her and her family’s biology. She told Lydia how Deucalion would always threaten to knot the betas when he got mad at them, force a mating, tie them to an evil, violent alpha for the rest of their lives. 

There was a whole slew of dynamic behind it, a whole structure of trust and love and consequence, a whole world of sexuality that Lydia was clueless about. But she did know the knot meant forever, it meant a bond (“sexual cement,” as Stiles called it).

She dialed Cora's number, fingers jabbing the buttons. “You can’t say that. Not now, not after you left. You can’t do that to me.” She barely waited to hear Cora’s voice before she tore into her with teeth, wanting her to feel her hurt. The most pathetic part of it was how wet she was, how she had been twisting in the sheets all red-faced and spread-legged before Cora brought up the k-word, and she knew that if Cora had a knot she’d take it until she couldn’t breathe or move or think, no matter where Cora was.

Cora made excuses, her voice pitiful and dripping with distance, but Lydia just kept tearing into her, using Peter against her, as if Cora had anything to do about him. Lydia didn’t give a shit about Peter Hale anymore but she knew Cora did.

It scared Lydia, how much she wanted to make Cora hurt for leaving. It scared her and it made her sad, because she loved Cora. She really did. And it sucked.

Lydia finally hangs up before she does too much damage, but after crying in bed for ten minutes, the heel of her hand pressed against her underwear to will away her stubborn arousal, she sends Cora a text.

_I want to be tied to you. But you’re not here._

*

In mid-July, Lydia tried to go out and find someone to hook up with, a thin girl with bedroom eyes and gold-brown hair, someone with a small button nose and mile-long legs, someone who could make her come without breaking her heart. She tried to Jungle, there were always a few women there looking for a one-night stand (there was a sad lack of lesbian bars in Beacon Hills), but all of the girls smelled too fake and wore too much makeup, they were too confident or not confident enough.

Well, they weren’t Cora. That was the real issue.

She wasn’t depressed anymore, not really. She was able to laugh and be with her friends. She was able to read her new books and exercise. She even got a weekend job at the small downtown jewelry boutique, which she loved. But she still felt hollowness on her stomach, a fake twang in her laughter.

She ended up making out with a girl from the cheerleading team at school, a tall junior with lush hips and heavy breasts and lips that tasted like slick mint gloss. It was just a house-party hookup, some steamy backyard thing with lukewarm beer and a gross swimming pool hosted by one of Stiles’ old friends, but the girl was smiling and willing and friendly, and Lydia thought she needed a little of that.

And it was _nice_. The girl had soft hands and a sure touch, her fingers on the insides of Lydia’s thighs felt sweet and made Lydia’s cunt clench in anticipation, and she giggled into Lydia’s mouth which made Lydia smile. But it didn’t get past second base—they were on a pair of camp chair in the depths of the backyard, hidden in the weeds, and it reminded Lydia too much of her and Cora’s late-night meetings in the woods. Lydia ended up pulling back and saying she was too drunk, which the girl respected.

Lydia walked home barefoot, shoes abandoned by the pool, tears streaming down her face, messy and snotty and black with mascara. 

Fuck, she was miserable. 

She crawled into bed at two in the morning, feet still dirty and makeup smeared, still tasting the girl from the party on her lips. 

Then her phone rang. And she faked it. She faked all of it. She told Cora she was okay, she told her to be strong.

But she was the weak one. Lydia was falling apart, she couldn’t scream away her heartbreak, she was restless for attention and recognition and affection. She was angry and hurt. She wanted Cora.

But even more, she wanted Cora to be safe, wherever she was.

So Lydia faked it, played brave for the Hale girl, she slept until three in the afternoon the next day.

*

_I’m on my way back._

Well. Well, that changed things. 

_Is that all it takes,_ Lydia thought. _One text, and that knot in my stomach dissolves?_

That was all it took.

*

Cora and Derek returned to Beacon Hills at five in the morning on a Tuesday, right when the season was winding down and the trees were starting to crisp, the mornings held a damp chill in the air. Lydia dozed off on her porch the night before, a battered copy of _Aurora Leigh_ in her lap, her hair long and frizzy from days in the sun and her pajamas stained with coffee.

Cora stepped onto the porch, wearing the same shorts and tank top Lydia saw her in the day she left, her sneakers coated in sand. Her hair was longer, her face tanner, and Lydia thought she never looked so beautiful.

But she couldn’t get up yet, couldn’t welcome Cora into her arms. She stayed on the porch swing, blanket bunched around her hips, and looked up at the girl who ruined her summer, who left her alone, who broke her heart.

“Will you be in town for long?” Lydia’s voice was too high, her face turned red.

Cora nodded, eyes wet and heavy. “As long as you’re here, I’ll be in town.”

Lydia laughed, short and angry. “Why should I believe you?”

Cora shrugged, tears overflowing. She wiped her face with both hands, looking back to see if Derek was spying on them. He wasn’t. “I thought about a lot of stuff when we were gone. I’m not strong. I need you, you’re the only thing helping me keep my shit together. You’ve always been so much stronger than me.”

Lydia finally stopped putting on a show and began to cry in time with Cora, messy teenage tears, no more airs. She lifted the blanket and Cora curled up next to her, her skin perfect and smelling like fresh air and salt water. She wrapped her arms around Lydia and buried her nose in her neck. “You’re the strongest kid I know,” Lydia said with a laugh.

“I love you, banshee bitch,” Cora whispered, and pressed a hot kiss to Lydia’s collarbone.

“I love you, mangy mutt.” Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and buried herself in the warmth of Cora’s hair.

They were still girls. They still needed to mask the big stuff in humor, in insults, in nonchalance.

But it was almost autumn and they had a lot of growing up to do together, and Beacon Hills seemed a little less dark when they were together.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Trigger Warning** : Mentions of past abuse to Cora at the hands of Deucalion/alpha pack, including rape threats. Mentions of knotting.
> 
> Same level of teen sexuality as previous fic--sex is discussed but not had between the pairing in the fic.


End file.
